it 2 our-ished, experiencing what we might even portray as a cultural renaissance whose de" ning feature is the control over the hackers’ means of production: software and source code. Between Stallman’s dramatic declaration of the

In the monastic confines of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, people had the freedom to live out this dream—the hacker dream. No one dared suggest that the dream might spread. Instead, people set about building, right there at MIT, a hacker Xanadu the likes of which might never be duplicated.

His grade—zero. "You used a computer!" the professor told him. "This CAN'T be right."

One of those wanderers was an outsider named Peter Deutsch. Even before discovering the TX-0, Deutsch had developed a fascination for computers. It began one day when he picked up a manual that someone had discarded, a manual for an obscure form of computer language for doing calculations. Something about the orderliness of the computer instructions appealed to him: he would later describe the feeling as the same kind of eerily transcendent recognition that an artist experiences when he discovers the medium that is absolutely right for him. THIS IS WHERE I BELONG. Deutsch tried writing a small program, and, signing up for time under the name of one of the priests, ran it on a computer. Within weeks, he had attained a striking proficiency in programming. He was only twelve years old. He was a shy kid, strong in math and unsure of most everything else. He was uncomfortably overweight, deficient in sports, but an intellectual star performer. His father was a professor at MIT, and Peter used that as his entree to explore the labs. It was inevitable that he would be drawn to the TX-0. He first wandered into the small "Kluge Room" (a "kluge" is a piece of inelegantly constructed equipment that seems to defy logic by working properly), where three off-line Flexowriters were available for punching programs onto paper tape which would later be fed into the TX-0. Someone was busy punching in a tape. Peter watched for a while, then began bombarding the poor soul with questions about that weird-looking little computer in the next room. Then Peter went up to the TX-0 itself, examined it closely, noting how it differed from other computers: it was smaller, had a CRT display, and other neat toys. He decided right then to act as if he had a perfect right to be there. He got hold of a manual and soon was startling people by spouting actual make-sense computer talk, and eventually was allowed to sign up for night and weekend sessions, and to write his own programs. McKenzie worried that someone might accuse him of running some sort of summer camp, with this short-pants little kid, barely tall enough to stick his head over the TX-O's console, staring at the code that an Officially Sanctioned User, perhaps some self-important graduate student, would be hammering into the Flexowriter, and saying in his squeaky, preadolescent voice something like "Your problem is that this credit is wrong over here . . . you need this other instruction over there," and the self-important grad student would go crazy—WHO IS THIS LITTLE WORM?—and start screaming at him to go out and play somewhere. Invariably, though, Peter Deutsch's comments would turn out to be correct. Deutsch would also brazenly announce that he was going to write better programs than the ones currently available, and he would go and do it.

The sub-priest could hardly get the words out. "W-where did you get that?" Samson, who had wide green eyes that could easily look maniacal, slowly pointed to an open place on the machine rack where, of course, no board had ever been, but the space still looked sadly bare. The sub-priest gasped. He made faces that indicated his bowels were about to give out. He whimpered exhortations to the deity. Visions, no doubt, of a million-dollar deduction from his paycheck began flashing before him. Only after his supervisor, a high priest with some understanding of the mentality of these young wiseguys from the Model Railroad Club, came and explained the situation did he calm down. He was not the last administrator to feel the wrath of a hacker thwarted in the quest for access.

There were two factions of TMRC. Some members loved the idea of spending their time building and painting replicas of certain trains with historical and emotional value, or creating realistic scenery for the layout. This was the knife-and-paintbrush contingent, and it subscribed to railroad magazines and booked the club for trips on aging train lines. The other faction centered on the Signals and Power Subcommittee of the club, and it cared far more about what went on under the layout. This was The System, which worked something like a collaboration between Rube Goldberg and Wernher von Braun, and it was constantly being improved, revamped, perfected, and sometimes "gronked"—in club jargon, screwed up. S&P people were obsessed with the way The System worked, its increasing complexities, how any change you made would affect other parts, and how you could put those relationships between the parts to optimal use. Many of the parts for The System had been donated by the Western Electric College Gift Plan, directly from the phone company. The club's faculty advisor was also in charge of the campus phone system, and had seen to it that sophisticated phone equipment was available for the model railroaders. Using that equipment as a starting point, the Railroaders had devised a scheme which enabled several people to control trains at once, even if the trains were at different parts of the same track. Using dials appropriated from telephones, the TMRC "engineers" could specify which block of track they wanted control of, and run a train from there. This was done by using several types of phone company relays, including crossbar executors and step switches which let you actually hear the power being transferred from one block to another by an other-worldly chunka-chunka-chunka sound. It was the S&P group who devised this fiendishly ingenious scheme, and it was the S&P group who harbored the kind of restless curiosity which led them to root around campus buildings in search of ways to get their hands on computers. They were lifelong disciples of a Hands-On Imperative. Head of S&P was an upperclassman named Bob Saunders, with ruddy, bulbous features, an infectious laugh, and a talent for switch gear. As a child in Chicago, he had built a high-frequency transformer for a high school project; it was his six-foot-high version of a Tesla coil, something devised by an engineer in the 1800s which was supposed to send out furious waves of electrical power. Saunders said his coil project managed to blow out television reception for blocks around. Another person who gravitated to S&P was Alan Kotok, a plump, chinless, thick-spectacled New Jerseyite in Samson's class. Kotok's family could recall him, at age three, prying a plug out of a wall with a screwdriver and causing a hissing shower of sparks to erupt. When he was six, he was building and wiring lamps. In high school he had once gone on a tour of the Mobil Research Lab in nearby Haddonfield, and saw his first computer—the exhilaration of that experience helped him decide to enter MIT. In his freshman year, he earned a reputation as one of TMRC's most capable S&P people. The S&P people were the ones who spent Saturdays going to Eli Heffron's junkyard in Somerville scrounging for parts, who would spend hours on their backs resting on little rolling chairs they called "bunkies" to get underneath tight spots in the switching system, who would work through the night making the wholly unauthorized connection between the TMRC phone and the East Campus. Technology was their playground. The core members hung out at the club for hours; constantly improving The System, arguing about what could be done next, developing a jargon of their own that seemed incomprehensible to outsiders who might chance on these teen-aged fanatics, with their checked short-sleeve shirts, pencils in their pockets, chino pants, and, always, a bottle of Coca-Cola by their side. (TMRC purchased its own Coke machine for the then forbidding sum of $165; at a tariff of five cents a bottle, the outlay was replaced in three months; to facilitate sales, Saunders built a change machine for Coke buyers that was still in use a decade later.) When a piece of equipment wasn't working, it was "losing"; when a piece of equipment was ruined, it was "munged" (Mash Until No Good); the two desks in the corner of the room were not called the office, but the "orifice"; one who insisted on studying for courses was a "tool"; garbage was called "cruft"; and a project undertaken or a product built not solely to fulfill some constructive goal, but with some wild pleasure taken in mere involvement, was called a "hack." This latter term may have been suggested by ancient MIT lingo— the word "hack" had long been used to describe the elaborate college pranks that MIT students would regularly devise, such as covering the dome that overlooked the campus with reflecting foil. But as the TMRC people used the word, there was serious respect implied. While someone might call a clever connection between relays a "mere hack," it would be understood that, to qualify as a hack, the feat must be imbued with innovation, style, and technical virtuosity. Even though one might self-deprecatingly say he was "hacking away at The System" (much as an axe-wielder hacks at logs), the artistry with which one hacked was recognized to be considerable. The most productive people working on Signals and Power called themselves "hackers" with great pride. Within the confines of the clubroom in Building 20, and of the "Tool Room" (where some study and many techno bull sessions took place), they had unilaterally endowed themselves with the heroic attributes of Icelandic legend. This is how Peter Samson saw himself and his friends in a Sandburg-esque poem in the club newsletter: Switch Thrower for the World, Fuze Tester, Maker of Routes, Player with the Railroads and the System's Advance Chopper; Grungy, hairy, sprawling, Machine of the Point-Function Line-o-lite: They tell me you are wicked and I believe them; for I have seen your painted light bulbs under the lucite luring the system coolies . . . Under the tower, dust all over the place, hacking with bifur- cated springs . . . Hacking even as an ignorant freshman acts who has never lost occupancy and has dropped out Hacking the M-Boards, for under its locks are the switches, and under its control the advance around the layout, Hacking! Hacking the grungy, hairy, sprawling hacks of youth; uncabled, frying diodes, proud to be Switch-thrower, Fuze- tester, Maker of Routes, Player with Railroads, and Advance Chopper to the System. Whenever they could, Samson and the others would slip off to the EAM room with their plug boards, trying to use the machine to keep track of the switches underneath the layout. Just as important, they were seeing what the electromechanical counter could do, taking it to its limit.

LOGIC ELEMENTS: the term seems to encapsulate what drew Peter Samson, son of a mill machinery repairman, to electronics. The subject made sense. When you grow up with an insatiable curiosity as to how things work, the delight you find upon discovering something as elegant as circuit logic, where all connections have to complete their loops, is profoundly thrilling. Peter Samson, who early on appreciated the mathematical simplicity of these things, could recall seeing a television show on Boston's public TV channel, WGBH, which gave a rudimentary introduction to programming a computer in its own language. It fired his imagination: to Peter Samson, a computer was surely like Aladdin's lamp—rub it, and it would do your bidding. So he tried to learn more about the field, built machines of his own, entered science project competitions and contests, and went to the place that people of his ilk aspired to: MIT. The repository of the very brightest of those weird high school kids with owl-like glasses and underdeveloped pectorals who dazzled math teachers and flunked PE, who dreamed not of scoring on prom night, but of getting to the finals of the General Electric Science Fair competition. MIT, where he would wander the hallways at two o'clock in the morning, looking for something interesting, and where he would indeed discover something that would help draw him deeply into a new form of creative process, and a new life-style, and would put him into the forefront of a society envisioned only by a few science-fiction writers of mild disrepute. He would discover a computer that he could play with.

Who's Who The Wizards and their Machines Bob Albrecht Found of People's Computer Company who took visceral pleasure in exposing youngsters to computers. Altair 8800 The pioneering microcomputer that galvanized hardware hackers. Building this kit made you learn hacking. Then you tried to figure out what to DO with it. Apple II ][ Steve Wozniak's friendly, flaky, good-looking computer, wildly successful and the spark and soul of a thriving industry. Atari 800 This home computer gave great graphics to game hackers like John Harris, though the company that made it was loath to tell you how it worked. Bob and Carolyn Box World-record-holding gold prospectors turned software stars, working for Sierra On-Line. Doug Carlston Corporate lawyer who chucked it all to form the Broderbund software company. Bob Davis Left job in liquor store to become best-selling author of Sierra On-Line computer game "Ulysses and the Golden Fleece." Success was his downfall. Peter Deutsch Bad in sports, brilliant at math, Peter was still in short pants when he stubled on the TX-0 at MIT—and hacked it along with the masters. Steve Dompier Homebrew member who first made the Altair sing, and later wrote the "Targe" game on the Sol which entranced Tom Snyder. John Draper The notorious "Captain Crunch" who fearlessly explored the phone systems, got jailed, hacked microprocessors. Cigarettes made his violent. Mark Duchaineau The young Dungeonmaster who copy-protected On-Lines disks at his whim. Chris Esponosa Fourteen-year-old follower of Steve Wozniak and early Apple employee. Lee Felsenstein Former "military editor" of Berkeley Barb, and hero of an imaginary science-fiction novel, he designed computers with "junkyard" approach and was central figure in Bay Area hardware hacking in the seventies. Ed Fredkin Gentle founder of Information International, thought himself world's greates programmer until he met Stew Nelson. Father figure to hackers. Gordon French Silver-haired hardware hacker whose garage held not cars but his homebrewed Chicken Hawk comptuer, then held the first Homebrew Computer Club meeting. Richard Garriott Astronaut's son who, as Lord British, created Ultima world on computer disks. Bill Gates Cocky wizard, Harvard dropout who wrote Altair BASIC, and complained when hackers copied it. Bill Gosper Horwitz of computer keyboards, master math and LIFE hacker at MIT AI lab, guru of the Hacker Ethic and student of Chinese restaurant menus. Richard Greenblatt Single-minded, unkempt, prolific, and canonical MIT hacker who went into night phase so often that he zorched his academic career. The hacker's hacker. John Harris The young Atari 800 game hacker who became Sierra On-Line's star programmer, but yearned for female companionship. IBM-PC IBM's entry into the personal computer market which amazingly included a bit of the Hacker Ethic, and took over. [H.E. as open architecture.] IBM 704 IBM was The Enemy, and this was its machine, the Hulking Giant computer in MIT's Building 26. Later modified into the IBM 709, then the IBM 7090. Batch-processed and intolerable. Jerry Jewell Vietnam vet turned programmer who founded Sirius Software. Steven Jobs Visionary, beaded, non-hacking youngster who took Wozniak's Apple II ][, made a lot of deals, and formed a company that would make a billion dollars. Tom Knight At sixteen, an MIT hacker who would name the Incompatible Time-sharing System. Later a Greenblatt nemesis over the LISP machine schism. Alan Kotok The chubby MIT student from Jersey who worked under the rail layout at TMRC, learned the phone system at Western Electric, and became a legendary TX-0 and PDP-1 hacker. Effrem Lipkin Hacker-activist from New York who loved machines but hated their uses. Co-Founded Community Memory; friend of Felsenstein. LISP Machine The ultimate hacker computer, invented mosly by Greenblatt and subject of a bitter dispute at MIT. "Uncle" John McCarthy Absent-minded but brilliant MIT [later Stanford] professor who helped pioneer computer chess, artificial intelligence, LISP. Bob Marsh Berkeley-ite and Homebrewer who shared garage with Felsenstein and founded Processor Technology, which made the Sol computer. Roger Melen Homebrewer who co-founded Cromemco company to make circuit boards for Altair. His "Dazzler" played LIFE programs on his kitchen table. Louis Merton Pseudonym for the AI chess hacker whose tendency to go catatonic brought the hacker community together. Jude Milhon Met Lee Felsenstein through a classified ad in the Berkeley Barb, and became more than a friend— a member of the Community Memory collective. Marvin Minsky Playful and brilliant MIT prof who headed the AI lave and allowed the hackers to run free. Fred Moore Vagabond pacifist who hated money, loved technology, and co-founded Homebrew Club. Stewart Nelson Buck-toothed, diminutive, but fiery AI lab hacker who connected the PDP-1 comptuer to hack the phone system. Later co-founded the Systems Concepts company. Ted Nelson Self-described "innovator" and noted curmudgeon who self-published the influential Computer Lib book. Russel Noftsker Harried administrator of MIT AI lab in the late sixties; later president of Symbolics company. Adam Osborne Bangkok-born publisher-turned-computer-manufacturer who considered himself a philsopher. Founded Osborne Computer Company to make "adequate" machines. PDP-1 Digital Equipment's first minicomputer, and in 1961 an interactive godsend to the MIT hackers and a slap in the face to IBM fascism. PDP-6 Designed in part by Kotok, this mainframe computer was cornerstone of AI lab, with its gorgeious instruction set and sixteen sexy registers. Tom Pittman The religious Homebrew hacker who lost his wife but kept the faith with his Tiny Basic. Ed Roberts Enigmatic founder of MITS company who shook the world with his Altair computer. He wanted to help people build mental pyramids. Steve [Slug] Russell McCarthy's "coolie," who hacked the Spacewar program, first videogame, on the PDP-1. Never made a dime from it. Peter Samson MIT hacker, one of the first, who loved systems, trains, TX-0, music, parliamentary procedure, pranks, and hacking. Bob Saunders Jolly, balding TMRC hacker who married early, hacked till late at night eating "lemon gunkies," and mastered the "CBS Strategy on Spacewar. Warren Schwader Big blond hacker from rural Wisconsin who went from the assembly line to software stardom but couldn't reconcile the shift with his devotion to Jehovah's Witnesses. David Silver Left school at fourteen to be mascot of AI lab; maker of illicit keys and builder of a tiny robot that did the impossible. Dan Sokol Long-haired prankster who reveled in revealing technological secrets at Homebrew Club. Helped "liberate" Alair BASIC on paper tape. Les Solomon Editor of Popular Electroics, the puller of strings who set the computer revolution into motion. Marty Spergel The Junk Man, the Homebrew member who supplied circuits and cables and could make you a deal for anything. Richard Stallman The Last of the Hackers, who vowed to defend the principles of Hackerism to the bitter end. Remained at MIT until there was no one to eat Chinese food with. Jeff Stephenson Thirty-year-old martial arts veteran and hacker who was astounded that joining Sierra On-Line meant enrolling in Summer Camp. Jay Sullivan MAddeningly clam wizard-level programmer at Informatics who impressed Ken Williams by knowing the meaning of the word "any." Dick Sunderland Chalk-complexioned MBA who believed that firm managerial bureaucracy was a worth goal, but as president of Sierra On-Line found that hackers didn't think that way. Gerry Sussman Young MIT hacker branded "loser" because he smoked a pipe and "munged" his programs; later became "winner" by algorithmic magic. Margot Tommervik With her husband Al, long-haired Margot parlayed her game show winnings into a magazine that deified the Apple Computer. Tom Swift Terminal Lee Felsenstein's legendary, never-to-be-built computer terminal which would give the user ultimate leave to get his hands on the world. TX-0 Filled a small room, but in the late fifties this $3 million machine was the world's first personal computer—for the community of MIT hackers that formed around it. Jim Warren Portly purveyor of "techno-gossip" at Homebrew, he was first editor of hippie-styled Dr. Dobbs Journal, later started the lucrative Computer Faire. Randy Wigginton Fifteen-year-old member of Steve Wozniak's kiddie corps, he help Woz trundle the Apple II to Homebrew. Still in high school when he became Apple's first software employee. Ken Williams Arrogant and brilliant young programmer who saw the writing on the CRT and started Sierra On-Line to make a killing and improve society by selling games for the Apple computer. Roberta Williams Ken Williams' timid wife who rediscovered her own creativity by writing "Mystery House," the first of her many bestselling computer games. Steven "Woz" Wozniak Openhearted, technologically daring hardware hacker from San Jose suburbs. Woz built the Apple Computer for the pleasure of himself and friends.

You bet your ass we're all alike... we've been spoon-fed baby food at school when we hungered for steak... the bits of meat that you did let slip through were pre-chewed and tasteless. We've been dominated by sadists, or ignored by the apathetic. The few that had something to teach found us will- ing pupils, but those few are like drops of water in the desert. This is our world now... the world of the electron and the switch, the beauty of the baud. We make use of a service already existing without paying for what could be dirt-cheap if it wasn't run by profiteering gluttons, and you call us criminals. We explore... and you call us criminals. We seek after knowledge... and you call us criminals. We exist without skin color, without nationality, without religious bias... and you call us criminals. You build atomic bombs, you wage wars, you murder, cheat, and lie to us and try to make us believe it's for our own good, yet we're the criminals. Yes, I am a criminal. My crime is that of curiosity. My crime is that of judging people by what they say and think, not what they look like. My crime is that of outsmarting you, something that you will never forgive me for. I am a hacker, and this is my manifesto. You may stop this individual, but you can't stop us all... after all, we're all alike.

If it makes a mistake, it's because I screwed it up. Not because it doesn't like me... Or feels threatened by me... Or thinks I'm a smart ass... Or doesn't like teaching and shouldn't be here... Damn kid. All he does is play games. They're all alike.

I'm in junior high or high school. I've listened to teachers explain for the fifteenth time how to reduce a fraction. I understand it. "No, Ms. Smith, I didn't show my work. I did it in my head..." Damn kid. Probably copied it. They're all alike.